amor et melle et felle est fecundissimus
by twisted-sheets
Summary: Side story to Changes. Genderswap AU, where Takaba is a woman. Shortly after 'moving in' with Asami, Takaba finds herself pregnant with Asami's child. In this part: Takaba finds herself face to face with one of Asami's former lovers, and gets some (unsolicited) advice. Things go downhill from there.
1. Chapter 1

**Buchou** is for section chief/editor. Or so my Japanese translator friend tells me.

**I**

When they arrive, Club Arryn is already packed full of bodies undulating against each other to the rhythm of the pulse-pounding beat of the music from the live band and the pulsating psychedelic lights overhead. Takaba winces, already feeling a headache coming on, made worse by the nauseating miasma of sweat, smoke, alcohol, and sex that permeated the club. She had hoped her 'send-off' party would be held in some quiet restaurant, but her editor led them here, and being the 'guest of honor', Takaba could do little else but follow.

Not really an appropriate place for a send-off, considering that she can't drink alcohol — okay, her doctor allowed her two glasses a week, but still, better safe than sorry — and party too much as Takaba's about twenty-three weeks pregnant (and finally starting to _really _show), the primary reason she's quitting work in the first place (though she cited family matters and a hankering to go back to studying as her official reasons for quitting).

But her (soon-to-be former) co-workers, of course, don't know about that, so. Here she is.

Her editor, Hakuba Sara, must be a VIP in the club, judging from the deferential manner they are treated. A deep bow from the manager himself greeted them the moment they stepped into the club, and he personally escorted them up the winding stairs to a partially hidden and soundproofed mezzanine that overlooked the dancing crowd — the Eyrie, the manager called it.

As they settle into the plush leather seats, drinks are served immediately: a glass of deep red claret for her editor and a couple of colorful martinis for her two other co-workers, Michiko and Keiko.

"What's your drink, Takaba-kun?" Hakuba-buchou asks her, leaning back against the cushions, claret held elegantly in one slim hand.

"A virgin Bloody Mary," she mutters back. Her editor raises a brow at her choice, but doesn't comment further.

Takaba glances about, noting her co-workers' flushed, excited faces, so different from her growing exhaustion (and headache and hunger), and inwardly sighs.

It's going to be a long night.

* * *

"So," Takaba's editor drawls out thirty minutes later (and after two more glasses of claret to Takaba's still unfinished virgin Bloody Mary), an oddly intent look in her eyes. "What are your plans? Are you going back to investigative photojournalism after this?"

"Oh, yes." Takaba doesn't even hesitate. No matter what, investigative photojournalism remains to be one of her passions, her truth. "I'll probably go on a freelance again until things settle down in the family, then I'll try for a permanent post."

"I thought you'd be going back to studying," Michiko, one of their writers, says, and then lets out a sigh. "I know _I_want to. If only to shove it to my bastard of a professor who told me I don't need to get an MA because 'I'm getting married and having babies anyway'."

"What an asshole," Takaba says before she could stop herself, and Michiko laughs. "But yeah, I do plan to go back to school eventually. I've listed course I've liked so far — I'm thinking either media studies or cultural anthropology and maybe English language ones as well." She has a plan shaping up in the back of her mind, still in its bare bones, but at least something to look forward to after the baby's born and things have calmed down a little. Maybe a little optimistic of her, but it's _something_.

"How tenacious of you, Takaba-kun," her editor says with a strange inflection in her voice that makes Takaba wonder if she is teasing her.

"Thank you," she replies, politely enough, despite suddenly being uncomfortable, a feeling she'd been experiencing the last couple of weeks from her editor — a strange vibe from her that had never been there before. It isn't anything overtly hostile or even creepy, but has just enough oddness that it makes Takaba a little uneasy — odd because, for most part, despite their varied taste and backgrounds, she and her editor got on well.

Much to her surprise, Takaba had somewhat enjoyed working under Hakuba-buchou's fiercely demanding and exacting guidance. She isn't exactly the Devil in Prada — she prefers Chanel, for one thing (she's wearing one now, a vintage ivory and black boucle suit) — but she comes very close. Takaba's drive and willingness to accommodate and even go around her oft-times (almost) superhuman demands impressed her, and they established a solid (even sometimes supportive), professional rapport.

So it is strange, that there would be tension between them now, when she's leaving. Unless Hakuba-buchou is disappointed in her or something, for pausing her professional career to take care of family matters, but her editor never gave that impression on her. So what in the world is going on?

Her thoughts are interrupted when Keiko lets out an excited little shriek. "Ohhh, look! Look! The owner is here," she says, pulling open the sliding window and leaning so far out the railing Takaba feared she'd topple and crash down to the frenetic crowd below. "He's gorgeous!" Beside her, Michiko is craning her neck as well, with such a flush on her face it was visible even under the club's lights.

Curious, Takaba looks over, and sees Asami, impeccably dressed as always (...and wearing the houndstooth scarf she made for him for Christmas around his neck, huh), surrounded by a few of his men, an inscrutable look in his face, standing near the entrance to the club.

_Oh_. She didn't know this is one of his clubs. _Does he know I'm here?_She'll probably find out soon enough. For now, she joins her co-workers (and it seems, the rest of the club) in observing Asami.

As Asami and his men make their way through the sea of people, heads swivel fast to turn to his direction, their owners' probably suffering whiplash as a result. Amidst the wave of bodies on the floor, Asami manages to stand out. Maybe it's the way he moves, with that sleek, dangerous grace of a predator, or the way he carries himself with the absolute, domineering confidence that he is the Master of All He Surveys.

As if in response to this air, the crowd parts, as the water of the Red Sea did before Moses, giving him space even without his men needing to 'urge' the crowd. Takaba spots Kirishima close behind him, carrying the ubiquitous suitcase, while the club manager all but trips himself over behind him, babbling something that Asami doesn't seem to be paying attention to. A few pull out phones and snaps a few stolen shots of Asami, who don't seem to take note of them at all.

_Feh_. Takaba snorts to herself in disgust. No wonder Asami's ego got to its present monstrous size, with everyone fawning over him like that. The man really needs to be taken down a peg or two. _Show off_, she thinks. He could have just used the VIP entrance and avoided the crowds. But no, he had to strut through the packed dance floor like an arrogant cock.

Takaba is about to step back when Asami passes near them, not wanting to be seen, but before could they disappear out of each other's line of sight, Asami looks up, and meets her eyes with an amber-eyed, predatory gaze, his lips briefly curling to a smirk.

A frisson of (unwanted) desire shoots up from the base of her spine and spreads across her nerves at the contact, making her pulse race, her mouth suddenly dry, heat curling low in her belly. She bites her lip and looks away, and finds Hakuba-buchou watching her with narrowed, speculative eyes over her wineglass.

"He's so hot, isn't he?" Keiko says from behind her. She flops back to her place in the sofa with a dreamy smile. "Asami Ryuuichi." She says the name as if it were a prayer. "God. Men who look like that shouldn't exist."

Despite the awkwardness of the situation, Takaba lets out an amused little huff at Keiko's words. She has never really thought much about Asami's looks before; Takaba tends to pay more attention to Asami's personality and business activities more than anything else, now that she thinks about it.

She'll concede to Asami's 'hotness', though. In her job as a photographer, Takaba's seen very good-looking men before, Greek statues made flesh, with their callipygian physiques and Apollo's belts, though never quite Asami's level of…animal beauty and sensuality, or with that kind of inhuman confidence and arrogance that comes to Asami as naturally as breathing.

"I would happily suck that man's cock for a whole day." Takaba chokes a little in her drink at Michiko's bluntness. Oblivious to Takaba's distress, Michiko adds, "He looks like if you licked him he'd taste of cognac, Cuban cigars, and sex."

For a moment, Takaba's mind goes blank, and then, before she could stop herself, she mentally goes over what Michiko said (though her mind shies away from thinking about sucking Asami off the whole day — her mind can only cope with only so much amount of _what the utter fuck_in a day, and she'd already filled her quota with this conversation).

Asami prefers Scotch whiskey, a pricey single-malt Macallan he drinks neat and burns pleasantly down the throat. He smokes spicy-sweet Dunhills — well, not since her pregnancy, at least not in Takaba's presence. And well, sex. Well. That one she'd agree with Michiko. _Why am I even thinking this?_

(Privately, Takaba thinks Asami tastes quite more complex — salt and musk with hints of bergamot from sweat and sex, notes of honey and spice and fire and peat from the Scotch, and, most of all, smoke and ash from cigarettes and bittersweet of the poison nicotine — all in all, potent, addictive, and corruptive.)

"So what do you think of him, Takaba-kun?" A little lost, Takaba stares for a moment at Hakuba-buchou, who looks back at her with a strange smile Takaba is finding increasingly disconcerting. "Asami Ryuuichi, I mean."

_He's an asshole_, is her first thought. But of course she couldn't say that. "I didn't realize you could _taste _sex," she says dryly. Michiko and Keiko laugh at that. Takaba then makes a show of considering her words. "I think he's good looking enough, but he probably has the worst personality," she eventually says, as casual as possible. Briefly, she wonders if Asami has this room bugged. Well, fuck him if it is. They do say listeners never hear any good of themselves. "Guys like that always are."

"Guys like that?" Michiko says, cocking her head to one side.

Takaba shrugs. "You know the type, those guys who want to control and dominate everything about your life."

Keiko only lets out a trilling, wicked little laugh. "Oh, he can dominate me all he wants. He'd probably make me enjoy it."

_He would. And then he'll make you beg for it_. Takaba desperately tries not to lose her shit in front of her co-workers. No need to make things more awkward than they already are. People fawn over your lov–the father of your unborn son is a strange, strange experience.

"Sadly, he's out of our league," Michiko says mournfully, before turning to Hakuba-buchou with a wide, knowing smile. "Well, not all of us, I guess."

Shifting in her seat, Takaba gives her editor a quick (hopefully discreet) once-over. Hakuba-buchou is a rather beautiful woman, tall and willowy and graceful, with long black hair, snow-white skin and preternatural dark brown eyes, a former model with sophistication and class and wit, ambition and intelligence — just the type of woman Takaba would have expected Asami to get involved with.

Hakuba-buchou only curls her lip upward, as if to smile, but not quite. Beside her, Keiko puts down her drink on the table and stands up, wobbling a little in her five-inch stiletto heels. "Well, pining for him isn't going to do anything good for us, so who wants to go dancing? Miki-chan? Takaba-kun?"

"I'll pass." She shakes her head, grimacing. "I've been told I dance like a beheaded chicken."

Keiko laughs cheerily and gives Takaba a comforting pat on the shoulder. "Aww, you can be that bad, Takaba-kun."

"You're kind, but I am that bad," Takaba replies with a self-depreciating grin. Kinda hard to dance when your ankle and feet are a bit swollen and you have a near three-pound unborn child in your stomach doing havoc on your balance. "But don't let my bad dancing skills keep you from enjoying yourselves. Rock, er, on!"

Flashing them 'V' signs, Keiko and Michiko goes off, giggling to each other as they do, bumping each other's hips playfully. Takaba watches them leave with a smile. They weren't that bad of a company, really. Or as co-workers. Hell of a lot better than some of the guys she worked with before.

Her good mood vanishes when she feels eyes on her, making the hair on the nape of her neck stand up, and when she turns, she sees Hakuba-buchou looking at her with that odd intensity again. "Is something wrong, Hakuba-buchou?" she asks, trying to dispel the mounting tension between them. "Do you want to go dancing, too?"

"Are you sleeping with Asami Ryuuichi?"

The question comes so completely out of nowhere that Takaba, for a moment, is speechless with shock. _Where the fucking hell did she get this idea_– "Did Mitarai say something stupid again?" Takaba asks, with a hint of exasperation, suddenly remembering Mitarai's persistent crush on her editor. Telling Hakuba-buchou about Asami…why would he do that except only to spite her for the trick she pulled a while back with his drunken photos. God, she is going to kill that bearded asshole with her bare hands when she sees him again.

Hakuba-buchou smiles. "He may have mentioned something on that subject."

Takaba fights the urge to facepalm. "Ugh, I'm going to strangle him." She shakes her head. "Stupid rumors. Mitarai's probably just being an ass as usual to piss me off. I can't see why he has to talk to you about it."

Laughing, her editor says, "Don't be too hard on him. It's not his fault. You see," her editor then sets down her glass with a deliberate little clink, and then leans forward toward her, "I asked him about those rumors."

"Oh." Well, this is getting a bit strange. "Why?"

"Idle curiosity. I wanted to know if they were true." She tilts her head to the side, and she seems so…harmless then, if not for the gleam of speculation in her eyes. "There's been talk that the real reason for your transfer to my department is because Asami, as your lover, didn't approve of you doing dangerous investigative work."

_What the flying fuck?_"I didn't know that." Takaba sucks in a breath, feeling as if she'd been punched. How widespread are those rumors about her and Asami? God, that is a bit too close to the truth than she's comfortable with. "Well, clearly these rumormongers don't know the dangers of diva models running amok." Takaba shrugs. "But you know why I transferred in the first place, and that–"

"–has something to do with Asami Ryuuichi as well," her editor cut in smoothly. "That actor's stalker is rumored to have run afoul with Asami — something to do with guns, I believe — and as I recall, you got hurt in that incident." She gives Takaba a small, almost apologetic smile. "You see why I got a little curious?"

"I…see." Her editor is remarkably well informed, far more so than her news editor, or even the cops. And far too inquisitive for some sort of 'idle' curiosity. Takaba is now truly wary, and when she replies, she makes her voice sound as dismissive as possible, light, almost teasing. "Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, Hakuba-buchou, but as I told Mitarai-san, I'm not–"

"I think you're lying." The calm expression on Hakuba-buchou's face belies the sharpness of her words, cutting through Takaba's bullshit with a single stroke. "There's an adage you might be familiar with, Takaba-kun: Where there's smoke, there's fire."

"I believe there's also another adage that you might be familiar with: Believe none of what you hear and half of what you see." Takaba smiles sweetly at her editor. Oh, she could play this game, too. "You've been in this business for a long time, Hakuba-buchou. I'm sure you know this."

"That I've been in this business for a long time is why I can tell between lies and truths." Fuck, but her editor's playing hardball. "And I know you're lying."

Despite her unease, Takaba calms herself and looks at her editor with puzzled exasperation. "Why are you so invested on something that isn't really any of your business, Hakuba-buchou? Really, this sort of thing–"

"Because Asami Ryuuichi," her editor says in crisp, cool tones, "is a personal interest of mine."

It takes a moment for the words to register in Takaba's mind. Then her eyes go wide as a chill shoots up her spine, raising goosebumps. "You've slept with him?" Takaba feels suddenly queasy at the thought, her stomach twisting into knots of anxiety.

Her editor smiles like a cat caught in the cream, and leans back languidly on the sofa. "We've…fucked occasionally," her editor says, studying Takaba with hooded eyes.

Takaba wills herself not to show too much of her thoughts on her face, keeping her expression one of faint interest. "Ah." She'd wondered how many lovers Asami had before her, and how long did they last. Surely he had many, though Takaba has never met or heard anyone's name connected to Asami. Knowing him, he probably handled his affairs very discreetly.

That her editor had been his lover is a bit of a surprise. Asami never mentioned it to Takaba, in all the time she'd been working under Hakuba-buchou. No doubt he found the situation amusing, the bastard.

"I take it he's never told you about me?" Hakuba-buchou says, divining her thoughts with an accuracy of a stab in the jugular. When Takaba doesn't answer, her editor sighs. "How very like him. He probably found the situation far too amusing to say anything."

Regardless of Asami's reason was in withholding this information from her, Takaba doesn't want this conversation with her editor. "Hakuba-buchou," Takaba starts to say, but her editor cuts her off.

"Let's skip through the denials, shall we, Takaba-kun? I find them very tedious." She then regards her with a serious expression Takaba had never seen before on her face, her eyes boring into her. "You're a sweet kid, Aki, if a little naïve. And I do like you. So let me break one of my own personal rules and give you some much needed advice."

She further leans over, and her lips almost brush against the shell of her ear, breath warm and smelling of wine and roses. She speaks to Takaba in a mellifluous voice loud enough to be heard over the muffled din of the club, her fingers pressing lightly on her arm, an intimate touch that makes Takaba's skin prickle in uneasiness. Her voice is full of gentle kindness that her blunt words lacked. "Don't think you're special. You're not. He may make you feel like you are, but you aren't. He just likes to pick up little pets every now and then. In time, he'll get tired of you and discard you."

Takaba says nothing; she finds herself suddenly hyperaware of the heavy weight on her belly, underneath her heart, her and Asami's unborn son, pressing against her ribs, her lungs, making it a little hard to breathe. She wonders how Hakuba-buchou would react, if she were to know of her condition, if she would say the same thing she's telling her right now.

Takaba has never flattered herself to think she was the only one Asami's been fucking. Or ever fucked or will fuck in this world. So maybe she isn't special, but she'll be damned if she lets Asami treat her as if she's inconsequential. She wants say that to her editor, but she held her tongue.

There's also this dark, possessive part of her that wants to tell her editor that yes, she's sleeping with Asami, she's living with him, and that she's carrying his child, and no, while Asami is bastard, he's not completely pure evil as people think he is if only to see the look on her face. Melodrama, unfortunately, isn't one of Takaba's forte.

Hakuba-buchou slides back to her seat, and Takaba breathes a little easier. "Don't get yourself too attached and expect too much from him." Her lips curve up to a strange smile. "Do enjoy the time you have with him, but always keep what I told you in mind."

"Is this what happened to you?" Takaba couldn't help but blurt out. "Did you expect too much?"

Hakuba-buchou laughs, but Takaba thinks her laughter is touched with a strange sort of bitterness, the kind of laugher from someone very wise and weary of the world. "No, Takaba-kun. I knew exactly what I was getting into."

"So are you still sleeping with him?" Takaba asks, surprising herself with the boldness of her question.

There's a pregnant pause, and for a brief moment, all Takaba could hear is the blood rushing in her ear and the rapid beat of her heart as she waits for Hakuba-buchou's answer. But she wills herself to meet Hakuba-buchou's eyes with a steady gaze, and not flinch away no matter what her answer is.

"No," Hakuba-buchou says abruptly. It makes Takaba wonder how truly deep her feelings for Asami had gone, despite her assertions. "We're not."

"I see." Takaba firmly resolves to ignore the relief she felt at the answer. "So. Aside from discarding me when he's finished with me, what other terrible things do you think he'll do?"

Hakuba frowns at her lighthearted tone, and makes a moue of discontent. "I don't think you have any idea what he's capable of, Takaba-kun. He could ruin every aspect of your life — your career, your relationships."

Takaba chokes back the urge to laugh hysterically. Fuck but that really pisses her off, that people assume _she doesn't understand_. Of course she does. Maybe there are things she doesn't quite get yet or finds difficult to acknowledge, but she's seen and experienced enough to know and understands the consequences of being with Asami. "Well, um, if you say so. Thank you for your advice," she says, sucking in another calming breath, "but I think you're mistaken, Hakuba-buchou."

Hakuba-buchou raises her brows. "Mistaken?"

"I'm not his new pet," Takaba says with a firm shake of her head. This one she will _make_sure of. "I don't know who has told you that, but that's not true."

"Takaba–"

She holds up her hand to silence her. Takaba's had enough of this. "No. Listen to me, Hakuba-buchou. I understand your concerns. I understand them very well." Gods know, she's spent many sleepless nights thinking about them. Leaning forward, Takaba continues, voice low and intent, "Look, trust me. I know how much of a terrible man Asami Ryuuichi is. You have no idea how fucking well I know that." Her lips curl into a grim smile, remembering that those early months of their…acquaintance, letting her pent-up issues and feelings on that bleed into her words. "You'll find no greater ally in thinking he's an asshole than me. I have no intention of letting a man like that get the better of me."

She leans back on the sofa, rolling her eyes in exasperation. "I don't even know why people would think he'd be interested in me, anyway. I'm not exactly supermodel gorgeous here, you know, or have any sort of social standing."

For several moments, her editor doesn't speak, and they stare at each other, both intent and determined. Finally, to Takaba's relief, her editor is the first to look away, her attention going back to her glass of wine. Takaba wills herself not to slump too hard on the sofa. Fuck but this conversation is draining the energy out of her, not a great thing for an already hungry pregnant woman.

But there's no respite, as apparently her editor isn't finished. "You may think I'm doing this out of spite and jealousy, but that's not why." Her editor gives her a long, steady look, her eyes steely. Oddly enough, despite everything, Takaba doesn't think she's lying. "You have a lot of talent and promise. It would be a sad thing if were all derailed by…this."

"_I _would be very disappointed in myself if I let some guy derail me from _my_ plans," Takaba says, with a faint smile. "Thank you for your concern, Hakuba-buchou, and if he ever _does_ approach me, I'll ask advice from you on how to torment him. But I really, _really_don't want to fucking talk about him, and I'm sick of people asking me about him. I also do not appreciate my name being dragged through the mud with him. The gods only know how much trouble that's going to cause me."

Then Takaba stands up, brisk and steady and ramrod straight, chin raised. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have need of the bathroom." Then, without waiting for a response, she heads for the door, sliding it open. The near-deafening sounds of the clubs roars in her ears as she does, and she inwardly flinches. Belatedly, she realizes the Eyrie has its own private bathroom, but fuck it if she's spending another minute in the same room with her editor.

She's barely out of the Eyrie when her editor calls out, "I still don't believe you, Takaba-kun."

Takaba doesn't look back, and firmly closes the door behind her.

* * *

**Notes:**

**amor et melle et felle est fecundissimus**is Latin for "love is rich with both honey and venom."

I wrote this way, waaaay before Sudoh entered the scene or the latest chapter. To be fair, Sara does have good intentions in mind. She likes Aki, and knows Asami fairly well enough to worry about her. She just wants to look after Aki. Too bad she's way, waaaay too late. I know this is so cliché, ahh but fuckit.

But really I just want to have Takaba have awkward!turtle times as women around her lust after her lover/the father of her child. And her and Asami to have hot sex. #ImshallowOK

The _Eyrie_ and _Club Arryn_ gets its name from George R.R. Martin's epic and brutal fantasy saga, _A Song of Ice and Fire_ (known also as HBO's _Game of Thrones_).

**(805):** _OH DEAR GOD. He looks like if u licked him he'd taste like bourbon, sex and sunshine_: I owe this from **Texts From Last Night**. Obviously sunshine is not a trait associated with Asami.

**Bergamot **is one of the ingredients of many, many colognes and perfumes. In hoodoo rootwork, bergamot is used to control or command, and for this reason is used in a variety of spells and formulas in which a practitioner might wish to subdue another person.


	2. Chapter 2

Barely two minutes on the dance floor, Takaba's already lost and confused — and feeling slightly claustrophobic and nauseous from the feel and smell of sweat-slicked bodies pressing against her, some more insistently and amorous than most.

When she spots the barely visible neon sign for the bathrooms, she's deeply relieved, and she makes her way there with purposive, no-nonsense steps that spell painful death for anyone who dares stop her. Somehow, her deadly aura pierces through the alcohol- and drug-addled mind of the dancers, and they give way to her.

And then when she does finally reach the bathroom, an oblivious idiot with a ridiculous Mohawk bars her way with his arm, and then reaches out and tries to grope her.

Fuck _that_.

Moving with surprising deftness for someone in her condition, she sidesteps his grabby hands, and then drops him to his knees with a brutal kick in the groin that surely would result in blunt testicular trauma. The man writhes on the floor, mouth hung open and silently crying, curled up in a fetal position and clutching his hopefully now useless genitals.

Stepping around his pathetic form, she continues to head for her destination, but then a heavy hand falls on her shoulder.

_Oh for fuck's sake_. Takaba whirls around, ready to punch the daylights out of the asshole, but lands one on a palm instead — one that belonged to a familiar face. "Gor–Suoh-san?"

"Takaba-san," Asami's hulking, stone-faced bodyguard says in his deep, deadpan voice. "Are you all right?"

_No, I am not_, Takaba thinks, but doesn't say so. She takes a deep breath instead, and manages a thin smile. "I'm fine." She casts a withering glance at her would-be groper, who is still twitching on the floor. "Could you get rid of that, please?" she says, then hastily adds, "Don't hurt him further, just…kick him out, or something." She scans the crowd, trying to spot familiar faces, hoping none of her co-workers saw her, and thankfully finding none. "Nice crowd you have here."

Suoh gestures to someone, and a black-suited guy steps out from the crowd and grabs the man and hauls him away as if he were a sack of potatoes. Takaba inwardly winces at the treatment, but doesn't say anything about it. "Is he still here?" she asks, shifting her attention back Suoh.

"Yes. Asami-sama still has some business to look over, but he asks you to join him in the office."

Takaba rolls her eyes at Suoh's words. _Ask_. As if Asami ever did. _Ordered_, more likely. "I would rather go home, actually." Because at this point, after what happened at the Eyrie, Takaba isn't sure how she'll face Asami.

"Asami-sama will go home with you as soon as he's finished with business." Suoh gives that look that tells her that Asami will not be taking no for an answer, and neither will he. "We've ordered some food for you in his office. I believe you haven't eaten yet?"

Takaba sighs. "Fine. Let's go." Then, thinking of the unruly crowd and her editor high in the Eyrie with a good view of the dance floor, she asks, "Is there an alternate route to the office that would bypass these dancing idiots?"

Thankfully, there turned out to be one, and she is led to Asami's office in relative peace and secrecy. By the time they reached the door, though, Takaba's uneasiness returns, as well as her earlier anger. It's too late to back out now, though, and when Suoh opens the door for her, Takaba has straightened her shoulders and put her game face on.

The moment she spots Asami, though, sitting at the desk and serenely going over papers, Takaba has a brief fantasy of picking up the nearest chair and hurling it at him, screaming, "You slept with my boss and didn't tell me, you asshole! And I'm not your fucking pet or property!" like a fucking hormonal pregnant banshee from hell.

Fortunately for Asami, what happened instead is that Takaba got hit with her earlier nausea like a punch in the gut, and, turning quickly to Suoh, demands, "Where's the bathroom?"

She reaches the sink barely in time, throwing up bile for most part. Closing her teary eyes, chest heaving from exertion, she doesn't look up as she rinses her mouth when the door opens, though she starts when a warm hand descends on the nape of her neck and starts rubbing soothingly. "You should have eaten something earlier."

If she weren't wrung out from throwing her guts up, Takaba would have rolled her eyes at Asami, stung by his rebuke. "I did eat a bit. I thought we were going to some restaurant, not a club. Can we please not blame me anymore? I'm feeling guilty as is." She takes a deep, steadying breath. "God, why don't you have food served in here?"

Asami lets out a chuckle. "Because this is a club, not a restaurant. People come here for a different purpose." Asami continues to massage the back of her neck, long, strong fingers slow and steadily stroking the base of her scalp. This time, Takaba's eyes do roll back, it felt so good, and feels a little embarrassed when she gives a little groan. "Do you feel better now?" he asks, sounding amused, teasing her.

"If you keep doing that, I may just fall asleep on your sink," Takaba murmurs. She closes her eyes and bites her lip to hold back a moan when Asami's thumb presses against that sensitive spot behind her ear, and tries to get some semblance of coherency to keep this from escalating further. "I feel much better now, thank you," she says, face flaming at the odd breathlessness of her voice.

"Good." Takaba makes an involuntary noise of protest when Asami removes his fingers, but then shiver when he places a kiss on her nape, his other hand sliding down to the curve of her swollen belly in that infuriating possessive way of his. "Eat your food before it gets cold. And then we'll go home," he tells her, breath warm against the shell of her ear, pressing his body against hers, momentarily filling her sensitive senses with his heat and of his scent — the sharp scent of _salt and musk with hints of bergamot from sweat and sex_— before stepping away.

Takaba watches silently as Asami leaves the bathroom, her hand touching the spot on her neck where Asami kissed her. She stands there for a while, her mind going back to what happened in the Eyrie. Loathe as she was to admit it, what her editor said raises questions about her place in Asami's life that she couldn't simply ignore.

For most part, her place in Asami's life has been something she'd never been quite sure of, something entirely clarified in clear, concise ways (on her part, at least). To most people, she'd be considered his mistress. His woman. Or his slut or whore, as some of Asami's enemies have told her to her face.

As for Asami himself, he'd called her his lover, his property, with emphasis on _his_ and all the possessive connotations with it. Asami has always been very clear on _that_. _Mine,_ he'd always say as he imprints himself on her (_to the very marrow of her bones_, she thinks sometimes), and perhaps to him, that was that. There is no need for anything else.

* * *

_Don't think you're special. You're not._

Her editor's words echo in her head, and Takaba can't help but mull over them. For the longest time, she's told herself it didn't matter if she wasn't 'special' in Asami's eyes, if she was simply just a passing phrase. It was never a goal for her, or something that she wanted.

Oh, Takaba's thought about it, wondered she had what it would take to capture Asami's heart, but she'd always tried her best to dismiss such thoughts. If Fei Long with all his beauty and power wasn't able to do it, how the hell could she, a mere upstart photographer, even come close?

Why should she even want it in the first place? Asami is a controlling, manipulative pain in the ass, antithesis to everything she believes in. Why the hell would she want someone like that in her life?

Months ago, before all of this, all she wanted was to get Asami out of her life as soon as possible (maybe by catching him in the act of committing nefarious deeds and having him arrested). Being with him was never a goal for her, or something that she wanted. She'd denied all accusations of her being owned by Asami fiercely, resisted every attempt of his to limit her independence, and actively avoided being dependent on Asami. She tried her damned best, too; she'd kill anyone who would say otherwise.

And yet, here she is, pregnant with Asami's child, living with him, and with plans to raise their child with him. How did it come to this, Takaba hasn't quite figured out. Only that in the end, despite everything that's happened and what she knew, she chose this.

* * *

Food turned out to be excellent, grilled herbed chicken with baked sweet potatoes and strawberries and cream for dessert. Takaba, famished beyond belief, settles comfortably at the sofa, resolves not to upset herself further with what happened tonight, and tucks into the food, ignoring the amused look Asami gives her every now and then.

(In fact, she's been ignoring pretty much all of the looks Asami's been throwing her the moment she came in — she refuses to be drawn into any further conversation today. She has quite enough of that shit.

In hindsight, she should have known such behavior would only raise red flags and make Asami more curious.)

Too engrossed in polishing off the strawberry and cream (which was fucking delicious), Takaba doesn't notice Asami's approach until he's taken hold of her hand, the one with fingers sticky with cream and strawberry, and slowly licks them clean.

Sparks of heat skitter up her spine as Takaba, mesmerized, watches Asami's tongue peek through the gaps of her fingers, sweeping over slick-sticky cream. Before she could protest, he then takes them into his warm mouth, and instead Takaba bites her lip to ride out the shivers that wrack her body at Asami's touch, the glide of tongue and sweet suction. Flush with sudden want, she offers very little resistance when Asami's lips move to her own, coaxing her mouth open with a lazy lick on her lips, and then kissing her with near bruising force, plundering her mouth thoroughly. When they part, Takaba's a little lightheaded. "Stop distracting me," he says, voice low and amused, "or we'll never get home."

That cuts through the hazy fog in her brain, and she pushes him away. "I'm distracting you? I'm just eating. Don't blame me for your crazy pervert fantasies." Takaba holds up her hand. "No need to describe those fantasies to me, please. I do not want to throw up again."

Asami only offers a wicked smile in reply that tells her she's probably in those fantasies quite often, and goes back to his desk to do his work, and mercifully leaves her alone to finish the rest of her meal.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

After dinner, she goes back to the washroom to clean up, locking the door behind her this time to keep Asami out. As she bent over the sink to watch her hands, the necklace Asami gave her for Christmas slips out of her dress and dangles out.

Quickly drying her hands, she takes hold of the pendants to tuck them under her dress. The diamond petals of the sakura flower glitter under the lights, and she pauses. Almost absentmindedly, her thumb traces the outlines of the sakura tree and its single blossom, then the smooth disk beneath it.

Takaba closes her eyes as her guts twist at the sudden rush of emotions, remembering the warmth of Asami's breath and fingers as he traced the edge of the disc when he suggested she has it engraved with their names. In a few months, their son will be born, and she will have their names engraved on the edge of the disc — her name, Asami's, and their son's, a family tree of sorts.

Unbidden, her thoughts go back to what her editor said to her of Asami. _"Don't get yourself too attached and expect too much from him."_ Takaba chuckles humorlessly. _I suppose she'd be please I followed her advice in some way_. Of all the things Takaba imagined of how things would go with Asami, creating a family was the least of what she expected. As for being too attached … well.

Takaba's been in love before, just once.

Before him, there were crushes and infatuations — the grim-faced, thick-browed captain of the baseball team in middle school who showered her with sweets and Pocky, the sly and sharp-tongued but angelic-faced school idol at her high school who was her first kiss, her cupid's bow lips that tasted of strawberry-vanilla lip gloss, saccharine sweet, even a cute, clumsy teacher or two that always smiled at her and encouraged her to do well, hands warm and reassuring on her shoulder — people she'd cared about, people that have caught her wandering eye and held her attention, sometimes for only a short while, sometimes for a long time.

In university, she met _him_. Takaba thinks she'd loved him from the moment she saw him, sent her heartbeat racing when he smiled at her and held her hands and said her name. Four years older than her, with quirky forked brows and serious, quiet brown eyes that sparked with passion when he talked of the starry heavens, of the vast worlds and universes beyond their tiny own, of exploding supernovas and the gaping maws of black holes.

Her memories of their romance come in snapshots, in fragments of sound. Huddled together in a quite corner at a university party where they first met, poring over a map of the night sky for hours, the wild cacophony of the party but a distant murmur to them. Hands entwined as they braved together a sudden storm of sakura petals, laughing and running like children as their petals spun around, brushing against their skin, velvet soft. Staring at the stars at as they lay on a blanket as he pointed out and named the constellations across the midnight sky, her head pillowed on his shoulder, lulled to sleep with the warmth of his voice, the feel of his breath against her ear, the steady beat of his heart. The tip of his ears as red as pomegranate seeds when she suddenly kissed him underneath the stained-glass canopy of autumn, his lips tasting just as sweet, his pulse stuttering beneath her fingertips on his wrist. Him placing a wreath of flowers around her head, crowning her his queen, his words a bare whisper compared with the roar of blood in her ears. On one knee before her, ring in one trembling hand, his face and heart full of heartbreak when she said _No_.

(If asked now, Takaba couldn't say why she refused his proposal. Everything had been perfect — they were great together, and he loved her and she loved him. She should have said yes. But when that moment came, even before he said the question in full, her lips were moving to say no.)

It took a year for them to start talking to each other after their break-up, another year before they settled to a comfortable friendship, with occasional emails and meet-ups and trips. But the memory of that moment haunts her sometimes, the way he'd _looked _at her, as if she had crushed every hope of happiness in his life with her refusal, with that single word. Until then she had never thought herself capable of inflicting such pain on anyone she loved. It was a revelation of self she'd never expected, or wanted, but has since kept close to her heart.

After him were a smattering of dates she barely remembers, a hazy blur of memories and faces, like pictures that didn't develop quite right, discarded without a second thought. It's not that Takaba had become heartless or cruel. If anything she was the exact opposite — she even became friends with some and always parted amicably.

Simply put, for Takaba, work proved far more interesting and exciting than any sort of romantic entanglement. She focused all her energies in her craft, reveled in the sharp, heady rush of back-alley chases, the thrill of satisfaction of a surveillance and investigation well executed, the heart-pounding excitement of the image of her target in her viewfinder and captured in film, the fierce hunger and drive of wanting to do better in her art, to reach for the highest, to prove to herself (and others) that she could do it. In all that time, she'd never been happier, or been more alive.

Then, of course, she meets Asami.

And _everything_ changes.

_Nothing_, absolutely _nothing_ in her life and her experiences or relationships prepared her for Asami Ryuuichi. She doesn't even have enough words to describe how much Asami affected her life. Asami isn't so much as human as he is a walking assortment of natural disasters that wrecked havoc on everything he touched.

There are very little words for the overwhelming tide of emotions and feelings that scoured her to the very bones, laying her bare before him, that had reduced her many times to the most primal of urges and needs. He had shaken the foundations of many of her beliefs and views of the world, set aflame her hidden cache of desires into an unending conflagration that at times threatened to burn the heart out of her. Her memories of Asami are always alive and vivid, as bright as a newly forged sword's edge and just as sharp, the accompanying intense emotions unsettling her and leave her bleeding at times, her heart beating as if it would burst from her chest. And yet she is drawn back to him again, and again, to that fucking maelstrom.

Takaba doesn't blame her editor for warning her off. Asami should come with all sorts of warnings, to be approached only with as much armor and protection as possible, otherwise he will completely wreck you — both figuratively and literally. Of course, Takaba thinks ruefully, Asami did come with warnings. Takaba just … blithely ignored them and went "fuck it!" then dove headfirst into the fray.

As for editor … part of Takaba is pissed at herself for dwelling on what she said. These matters were things she thought had been resolved with herself months ago. These shouldn't be an issue now. She shouldn't be dwelling at this so much.

Besides, Asami's past relationship with her editor was the least of her worries. Part of the reason she agreed to be with Asami is to avoid too much stress. She did not need more stress now. What does it matter if Asami didn't tell her about him dating her boss in the past? It's not like she expected him to share his relationship history with her. She certainly doesn't want him to expect she'd tell him her own past relationships, and neither is she inclined to share those to him.

Perhaps the crux of the matter lies not on Asami sleeping with her editor, but what her editor had said: _Don't think you're special. You're not_. Despite everything she'd said and thought in the part, the truth of the matter was that she wants to be _special_. To Asami.

Takaba doesn't want this, never wanted this. In the past, it had been too easy to keep her distance, to keep away. But now, in these past few months of being together — probably long before she even got pregnant, as she knows more about _him_, knows more about _herself_, she realizes all the things she'd been telling herself are lies, an elaborate self-deception meant to keep her from falling deep and ending up hurting herself.

It's a frightening realization, one she keeps close and hidden in her heart. She's already far too vulnerable as is in her situation. No need to make her more so.

These are valid reasons for her concerns. After all, this is the man who had told her, _You do not have that kind of value_. Oh, she still remembers that, still remembers the sudden, wholly unexpected sharp stab of pain in her chest when she first heard those words. They hurt then, and they still hurt now.

But even so, she feels vaguely guilty, doubting him. Asami has given her very little reason to. After all, soon after he'd spoken those words, Asami moved to rescue her from Fei Long despite his own unhealed wounds, putting himself at much risk. In the past few months, Asami has been very supportive, always there for her and their child, ready to accommodate her needs and wants, no matter how outrageous they sometimes get. He bought a house near her parents for her and their child, and they moved in there _together_. He comes home to her almost every day (except when work gets in the way, and that's only when it's something truly urgent).

There are a hundred little things, like the way he touches her, the way his hands sometimes hold her with something like reverence and tenderness beneath the usual possessiveness, the way his mouth makes that little odd quirk of a smile when he's amused and indulgent with her, even if at times what she does completely puzzles him, the way he looks at her with what could only be warmth when she thinks she's not looking. Hundreds of little things she'd never thought would ever come from him and directed at her. The way he reveals bits of pieces of himself to her, whether voluntarily or involuntarily.

Takaba may not always be good at discerning Asami's motives, and she will probably always have her doubts, but she thinks, as fucking crazy as it sounds, if his actions are anything to go by, that, just like her, maybe, _maybe_, Asami wants _this_: wants her, their child, and a future with her, and, impossibly enough, a family with her. That she is, somehow, _special_.

So much for her not to be "too attached."

(Maybe that's why she's so fucking _scared_ sometimes, why she wakes up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat, her stomach heavy with dread, with some unnamed fear. Maybe that fear is that everything is all some strange dream, and she desperately wants that dream to be a reality.

But then she glances to her side and sees Asami sleeping beside her, feels his warmth pressed against her, his hands around her, and then she knows this is reality, her reality.)

In his place beneath her heart, their unborn son quickens, his movement strong and sure for someone so tiny, kicking hard in her womb. Shaking her head, she puts her hand on her stomach to calm him, and takes a deep, cleansing breath. He stills, and Takaba smiles. She tucks back the necklace into her dress, and then opens the door, stepping back into the office, where Asami waits for her.

* * *

Sorry! Don't mind me, this is me trying to get Takaba to sort of resolve her fucking feelings over the matter — man, dude, you brood a lot for someone so cheery. :P

People who follow me over at tumblr probably recognize the first part as something I posted a while back — yeah, I just expanded it a bit. I think of Takaba as someone who dated or went out every now and then (she's a fun, outgoing girl!), but probably was too busy with work and found that more exciting than dating or anyone she met. Then of course she meets Asami.


End file.
